


Perfect

by JustYourAverageFanboy



Series: Can You See Me/Can You Hear Me? [2]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blind!Evan, Briefest mention of the Pagan religion, Connor-centered fic, Cynthia’s trying, Deaf!Connor, Drugs, Gen, Larry is a dick, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Song fic, Suicide Attempt, Takes place in 8th grade, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-02-27 16:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13251906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustYourAverageFanboy/pseuds/JustYourAverageFanboy
Summary: He was tired of it. He’s so fucking tired. Tired of all the drama, of all the fights that end with hurtful words and slamming doors. Tired of being a stubborn, sorry excuse for a son. And damn it, he’s tired of being tired.OrFour events that took place before Connor’s first suicide attempt.





	Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated
> 
> I didn’t put this in the tags but Connor isn’t fully deaf in this 
> 
> **Incase you didn’t read the tags, here are some warnings**
> 
>  
> 
> **Graphic self-harm scene**  
>  **Bullying**  
>  **Terrible parenting**  
>  **Suicide attempt**  
>  **Self-hatred and intrusive thoughts**

_Hey dad look at me_   
_Think back and talk to me_   
_Did I grow up according to plan?_   
_And do you think I'm wasting my time doing things I wanna do?_   
_But it hurts when you disapprove all along_

_And now I try hard to make it_   
_I just wanna make you proud_   
_I'm never gonna be good enough for you_   
_Can't pretend that I'm alright_   
_And you can't change me_

He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. His freshly cut hair stuck out in points due to him yanking at it. He hated it; his father made him get it cut a week ago and it was absolute hell to tame it. His old, longer hair never stuck out in the mornings and didn’t take ten minutes of wetting it down with a washcloth.

His eyes were red and it wasn’t from crying. The bags under his eyes were darker than before. He was a mess and he knew it; but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.

He clutched the nearest hairbrush and attempted to tame the wild bush he called hair. When he was done, it was still sticking out but it was better. He reached for Cynthia’s concealer. He dabbed a bit under his eyes to hide the bags. He set the makeup down. He looked good. Or at least socially acceptable. It would keep his parents off his back for a while and that’s all he cared about.

He faintly heard Cynthia call his name from the kitchen upstairs. He closed the door behind him and made sure to take small steps while walking up the stairs. He had stayed up until five in the morning getting high and he wasn’t in the mood for being around his family. He wouldn’t say he’s addicted to weed, he just smoked it every few weeks to ease the pain of depression.

When he got to the kitchen, Cynthia was setting the table, Larry was reading the newspaper, and Zoe was on her phone. They looked like a picture perfect family. A family that had no problems. Until Connor is ever around. Then all hell breaks loose and the perfect family image is dropped and shattered and glass digs into the family and anyone unlucky enough to be around when it happens.

Connor sat himself across from Larry, who didn’t glance up or even say good morning or a simple hello. Cynthia set a plate of pancakes in front of Connor, along with an almost empty bottle of syrup. Connor pushed the bottle away and Zoe snatched it, popping the cap off and pouring an unhealthy amount of syrup onto her plate.

Connor faked a gag and she turned to glare at him. He rolled his eyes and decided to stab the food with his fork.

“Connor,” Larry grumbled, “don’t play with your food, you’re not five.”

Connor rolled his eyes again and put a small bite into his mouth. He chewed as slowly as possible, hoping he would be slow enough to get out of school.

“Connor, I know what you’re doing,” Cynthia scolded. “You are going to school whether you eat or not. You can’t miss the first day of eighth grade.”

Of course the universe had other plans.

Connor sighed, letting his fork drop onto his plate.

“The bus is gonna be here soon,” Zoe said, standing up. Syrup stuck to the corners of her mouth. “He’s not gonna wait for you anymore.”

Connor muttered a string of curse words and something along the lines of, “Does it look like I give a shit?” He stood up anyways and shoveled one more pile of pancakes into his mouth before following Zoe out of the house. The bus rolled to a stop right as Connor shut the front door. Zoe was running towards it while Connor was taking his sweet time.

The bus driver muttered under his breath and closed the door right when Connor stepped on. He looked at each seat as he walked down the aisle, hoping someone would give him space to sit. He hated being the last stop; he always got stuck with crappy seats if he got one at all. No one would willingly share unless the drive yelled at them.

The bus started moving, causing Connor to stumble and grab onto something. That something was a girl’s shoulder. The girl pulled away, grimacing as if he was dirty and ruined her dress. Connor regained balance and continued walking.

There was a blond boy sitting alone. Connor leaned over and tapped his shoulder. The boy jumped.

“Can I sit here?” Connor asked, his voice sounding like a whisper to himself. He must’ve been talking loud enough because the boy nodded fast and moved his backpack out of the way. Connor slid into the seat.

The rest of the ride was silence except for the occasional yells from drama and the bumpy road. The bus rolled into the school parking lot and over to the drop off area. The kids poured out of the bus and onto the sidewalk.

The kid Connor sat with was now walking next to a kid with glasses. Connor passed them, accidentally knocking his shoulder into Glasses Kid.

“Watch where you’re going freak!” he exclaimed. Connor stopped and turned to stare at the kid. “Move it, weirdo. Why don’t you go find your other friends? Oh wait.”

“Jared, you, you shouldn’t say things like that,” Blondie said.

“He’s deaf, Evan,” Glasses said, “he can’t hear me.”

Connor bit his lip, trying to think of a comeback. Maybe he was still a bit high because he couldn’t think of a good one. Instead, he replied in words and sign language, “I can hear you, but I don’t understand with your over-inflated ego.”

Glasses rolled his eyes and continued walking. “I don’t understand your stupid sign language.”

Connor stuck his foot out, making him trip.

“What the hell, man?” Glasses yelled. “Why are you picking on me? Don’t you have a school to shoot up or something?”

Connor froze, staring at the boy with wide eyes. Jared smirked and moved past him, knocking his shoulder with his own. Connor stumbled. The Evan kid trailed after Jared, hanging onto his left elbow.

_Cause we lost it all_   
_Nothing lasts forever_   
_I'm sorry I can't be perfect_   
_Now it's just too late and_   
_We can't go back_   
_I'm sorry I can't be perfect_

Connor locked himself in his room, covering his ears with his hands. His parents were fighting again and for once, Connor hadn’t started it. He had a feeling, though, that he was the topic of the yelling.

The voices were already muffled due to his hearing loss, but he heard them nonetheless. The sound vibrated the walls. He could faintly hear Zoe’s music across the hall. She was drowning them out too.

His arms started itching. He scratched at them, ripping the scabs off. Fresh blood seeped out of the wounds. The blood rolled off his arms, dripping slowly onto the carpet, staining it a crimson red.

He dug his nails into the cuts, trying to go deeper, make them bigger.

The front door slammed, shaking the house and throwing Connor out of his daze. His breath caught in his throat as the pain finally registered. His eyes trailed down to his arms and he had to bite his lip to keep from gagging. The smell was horrible. His fingers were caked in blood, which was now drying. It was stuck under his nails. Blood was smeared all over his arms and it continued to drip.

Was he losing too much? Did he cut a vein somehow?

“Mom!” Connor yelled. He stood up and unlocked the bedroom door, getting blood all over the handle. Cynthia came bounding up the stairs; Connor never called for her, let alone scream her name.

Cynthia stood in the doorway, mouth open in a silent gasp. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” she whispered, carefully taking her son’s arm.

She lead Connor to the bathroom. Zoe had peeked her head out from her bedroom and gasped at the sight. Connor glared at her. She ducked back into the safety of her room and continued her music.

Cynthia sat Connor down on the toilet lid, telling him to keep his arms out.

“I didn’t, I didn’t mean to,” Connor blubbered. “I just, I couldn’t handle the yelling and I didn’t realize what I was doing and. I’m scared.” His voice cracked on the last word and so did Cynthia’s heart.

“It’ll be okay,” she soothed, getting a wash cloth wet, “you’ll be okay. We can talk about this if you want.” She placed the soaked cloth on his arm. She gently ran the cloth up and down the arm, making sure all the blood was washed off.

She rinsed the cloth and started on the other arm. Connor sniffed.

“Where’s Dad?” he asked.

Cynthia’s motions slowed. “He’s staying at a friend’s house for a while.”

Connor looked at the tile floor, tracing the black lines with his eyes. “Is it because of me?”

“Of course not,” Cynthia said. “He just. . . Needs time to himself. We don’t get along like we used to.”

Connor glanced at her. She had gone back to cleaning his arm.

A minute passed and his arms were clean. Blood was still coming out, but it was starting to scab over.

Cynthia washed her hands and kneeled in front of her son. “Connor,” she said sternly, “I need to know how long you’ve been doing this.”

Connor paled. That was the last thing he wanted people to know. He bit his lip. Cynthia sighed and stood up. “I’ll be talking to your father about this. You know you can talk to us.”

Connor shrugged, not making eye contact. He always thought that eye contact showed you were confident and not intimidated; but if he were to be honest with himself, he would burst into tears the moment he met Cynthia’s gaze. Crying meant he was weak and he couldn’t let people think that. How would he be treated if Zoe heard and told the whole school that big, bad wolf Connor cries.

After dinner, Larry came back to get clothes and other necessities. Cynthia stopped him at the front door. She started talking in a hushed tone.

Connor muted the TV and leaned over the couch to hear them.

“—on his arm,” Cynthia whispered. “I cleaned them but there’s so many. He wouldn’t tell me how he’s been doing it.”

“It’s a phase, Cynthia,” Larry responded, louder than her, “it’ll stop soon.”

“This is our son, Larry!” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Who lets their son hurt himself? He needs help, this isn’t normal.”

Larry sighed. “He just wants attention.” He ran a palm over his face. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“No.” Cynthia uncrossed her arms and stood firm. “We won’t let this go. This is serious. Why would he want attention?”

“Why else is he doing this?”

Connor jumped off the couch and stood in the start of the entryway. “If I wanted attention, I wouldn’t’ve hid them!” He yelled, curling his hands into fists. “If I wanted attention, I’d shoot up a school. If I wanted attention, I’d kill myself!”

Cynthia burst into tears, Connor stormed upstairs, and Larry just stood there, for once at a loss for words. Zoe was standing at the top of the stairs. She watched as her brother passed her. He knocked his shoulder into hers. She stumbled, shooting a concerned glance at him.

He stared back, and she was sure she saw the smallest apology on his face. It was gone in a flash.

She moved from her spot against the wall and went over to Connor’s room. She knocked and opened the door, not caring if he got mad. She stared until he noticed her. He lifted a brow in question.

“You aren’t gonna kill yourself, are you?” she asked, her voice quiet and afraid, as if one wrong word would set him off. Which. It probably would. She took a tentative step forward.

“Of course not,” he lied through gritted teeth, sitting on his bed. “Don’t worry, I was just mad.”

She nodded, looking around, at the messy desk, the floor, torn posters, anywhere but him. It was weird being in his room, especially alone; it felt nice too.

“Promise to tell me if you ever feel like that?” Zoe held her elbows. “We don’t have the best relationship—“ Connor snorted “—but I care.”

Connor nodded, knowing it was a lie. It was a lie that Zoe cared and it was lie that he would tell her how he felt like complete shit every waking minute, about how he would cut his arms to shreds, never letting them heal unless they had started scarring. About how he almost did kill himself but chickened out last minute.

Zoe cleared her throat and drew her gaze towards her brother, who was staring at his hands. He looked up at the noise. She raised her arms. “Can I?”

Connor sighed and nodded. Zoe closed the large gap between them and fell into her brother’s arms. He wrapped them tightly around her, pulling her close.

God he missed her. He missed being able to be in the same room without yelling or sending glares from across the couch or signing swears their parents didn’t know yet.

He wanted to be able to talk with her, to laugh with her. He wanted to be close again, but he didn’t know how. He was scared. Scared that he couldn’t be the perfect brother she wanted. Scared that he would chase her away for good.

Connor was the first to let go. They stared at each other before Zoe stood up. The blank expression was back on her face and her tense stance returned, as it nothing happened. She gave a brief nod and left, closing the door behind her.

_I try not to think_   
_About the pain I feel inside_   
_Did you know you used to be my hero?_   
_All the days you spent with me_   
_Now seem so far away_   
_And it feels like you don't care anymore_

Connor walked down the school hallway, pushing passed everyone so he wasn’t late for class. If he was late again, the teacher would call his parents. He doesn’t need another reason to be a fuck-up.

He passed a group of boys, who nodded at each other before making their move.

“Hey Connor,” one of them sneered, a hand clamping down on the mentioned boy’s shoulder. “What’re you doing?”

“None of your business,” Connor retorted. “Leave me alone I haven’t done anything.”

The second guy put his hands up. “We aren’t gonna do anything,” he chuckled, “we just wanna hang with you.”

The two other boys grabbed him by the arms and dragged him down the halls. He fought, he stomped on feet, he elbowed ribs, he even tried biting. They wouldn’t let up.

“Are you an animal, Connor?” the first boy snapped. “Only animals bite. I think this animal needs to be taught a lesson.” He lead them to the nearest bathroom. It was empty as kids were walking to class with one minute to spare.

They dragged him to the farthest stall. Connor decided to let out a scream, hoping any nearby teachers would hear him. The tall blond punched his stomach, making him barrel over. The shortest boy held his arms behind his back as they forced him to his knees. They shoved his head into the toilet.

They laughed as he struggled to breathe. The water muffled the terrible sound. They pulled him out twenty seconds later, let him take one breath, then forced him back down. The cycle repeated; toilet, air, toilet.

He made the mistake of inhaling some toilet wat. The boys released him and he sat up, head bent over the seat as he coughed the disgusting water out of his mouth. The front of his shirt was soaked, along with his hair.

He would’ve sat there all day if the blond boy hadn’t grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back. Connor fell against the floor, nearly hitting his head on the tiles.

“Next time,” he whispered, grabbing Connor by the hair and lifting him up. Connor strained to hear him. “Don’t bite, or it’ll be worse.”

He shoved his head away and stood up. Connor laid there for a second. Two seconds. Three seconds. On the fourth, he was up and running towards the kids as they were leaving the bathroom.

He tapped the blond’s shoulder. The kid turned around just as Connor’s fist connected with his face. The kid stumbled back, leaning against the wall and covering his nose. Blood slipped between his fingers and down his chin.

“What the hell?” he shouted, voice sounding muffled and stuffed due to the blood. The brown haired boy stood by his side, making sure he was okay while the other boy charged at Connor, fist raised. Connor dodged the punch, but the fist grazed his ear. The kid stumbled forward and Connor kicked the back of his knees, making him fall.

Connor stood above him and flipped him over. He sat on his stomach and began throwing punches. He didn’t realize where he was hitting or how hard. He just saw red. He hardly heard the other kids’ screams and poor attempts to get him to stop. The built up rage had consumed him and wouldn’t let go. He did, however, register the kid’s defenses as he threw weak punches back.

Connor was suddenly thrown off the boy. He collided with a stall door. His head smacked against it with a sickening thunk. Black spots danced in his eyes and he desperately blinked them away.

The blond started kicking him. Connor grabbed his ankle and pulled. The blond managed to punch him in the face from a weird angle. It didn’t do much but it would leave an ugly bruise.

“Murphy!” someone yelled. “Anders, Hol! My office, now!”

Connor looked up and saw the principal standing in the doorway. She was tapping her foot and her arms were crossed. She turned and walked away. The Anders kid faced Connor and threw a final punch before he and the Hol kid followed the principal.

Connor stumbled, slightly dazed from the hit. He felt blood dribble down his face but didn’t wipe it away. The blood splattered onto the floor and the hem of his shirt and jeans. He made sure to stay behind them, lest Anders decide to continue the fight. The four of them got to the office and the principal sat them down.

Connor got a look at Hol and his eyes widened in surprise. His stomach churned and guilt swallowed him. Hol’s nose looked broken and blood still poured out of it. His eyes were swollen shut.

Connor directed his gaze to his feet and he fiddled with his hoodie sleeves.

“Mind explaining what happened?” the principal asked, staring intensely at the three.

“Connor just went crazy!” Anders exclaimed. “We were just using the bathroom and he started throwing punches.”

Connor scowled. “That’s not true,” he interrupted. “They dragged me there and forced my head in the toilet. I didn’t do anything! Why else would my hair and shirt be soaked?”

The principal sighed. “I’m calling your parents to pick you all up. You will all be suspended for four days.”

“But he started it!” Connor pointed at Anders. “Why should I get in trouble?”

“You fought back.”

“So I was supposed to let them almost drown me?”

“That’s not what I meant.” She sighed again and stood up. “Stay here. Don’t move, don’t fight.”

Twenty minutes later a furious Larry Murphy came storming into the office. Connor stood up as Larry grabbed his arm. He tried to keep up with Larry’s long strides out the door.

The drive home silent; the horrible tension was choking Connor. He stared out the window, slowly sliding down the seat, hoping it would swallow him whole. He caught his father looking at him through the rear view mirror. Connor would glare in response.

He didn’t bother waiting for the car to fully stop. He was up and running toward the house when they came into the driveway. Larry was faster than him.

Larry held him in place. Connor struggled. He eventually caved and slumped down. Larry let him go and walked into the living room, motioning for Connor to follow.

He stood in the center of the room, arms crossed. “Care to explain why I had to miss work to pick you up?”

“She didn’t tell you?” Connor asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“She did,” Larry began, “but I want to hear it from you.” Connor shrugged. He out his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor. “You’re grounded for two weeks.”

“What?” Connor asked. “I was defending myself!”

“You beat up two students!” Larry yelled back. He took a minute to pinch the bridge of his nose and take a deep breath. “A punch or kick, I could possibly excuse. But you could’ve broken that kid’s nose. You’re lucky if they don’t charge us for their medical bills.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “So I was supposed to let them drown me?”

“I didn’t say-“

“Yes you did. That’s exactly what you’re saying.” He turned away from his father and crossed his arms.

Larry sighed. “Sometimes I wonder why you can’t be normal.”

Connor froze. His breath halted. “What?” he asked. His voice was laced with disbelief. “What did you just say?” He knew he wasn’t normal but he never thought his own father would say that to his face.

“Connor wait-“

The boy spun around, arms dropping only to form fists. “You wanna talk about normal? Do you even know the meaning of that word? Yeah I’m not normal, but I’m not the only one. Normal is what this family isn’t. It’s not normal to constantly fight with your wife. Normal isn’t ignoring your son when he tells you something is wrong, that he needs help. Normal isn’t agreeing with some over every fucking thing that happens between us. Normal isn’t fighting with your 13-year-old son every day. And normal most certainly isn’t thinking that I’m faking my depression just so my father will actually pay attention to me!”

Strong tears welled up in his eyes, his cheeks burned with anger. He swore he saw Larry’s features soften before the stone-cold expression was back. Connor closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm himself.

The front door closed. Both men looked over. Cynthia stood in the doorway, arms full of grocery bags. She took one look at the two and knew something happened. Why did her son have blood on his nose? Why was he on the brink of tears?

“Larry what did you do?” She dropped the bags and rushed over to her son. “Why is he hurt?” She gently touched Connor’s chin and inspected his face.

“I didn’t do anything,” Larry defended. “He got into a fight at school.”

“And so he dragged my sorry ass home to start a verbal one,” Connor butted in. Larry nudged him for the language.

Cynthia hugged Connor, much to his discomfort. “Are you okay?”

Connor pulled away, ignoring the hurt look on her face, and went to the kitchen. He searched for his favorite snack; Warheads, the extreme sour ones. He managed to persuade Cynthia to get him a jumbo box.

He took two bags from the box and left the kitchen. He saw Cynthia glance at them before turning back to Larry. Connor leaped up the stairs.

The hushed voices from the living room turned into booming ones. Connor tore open a bag and shoved two Warheads into his mouth. He tensed at the sourness but didn’t spit them out. He loved the candy because it was an invisible way to cause pain to yourself. If people see you shoveling four pieces into your mouth, they’ll assume you’re used to it or crazy. Perhaps both.

Cynthia knew though. She was walking in on him with three empty bags surrounding him and he was shoving three pieces into his mouth, eyes squeezed tight as tears slid silently down his face. Whether it was because he was upset or the candy, they both had no idea.

The voices fell silent when the sound of glass shattering echoed through the house. No scream. Connor spit out the candy and ran out of his room. He leaned over the railing and peered into the kitchen where Cynthia stood behind the island and Larry stood in the entrance.

They stared at each other intensely. He could see Cynthia’s chest rise and fall and the steam coming out of Larry’s ears. Broken glass was scattered on the floor. From the looks of it, Cynthia was the one who smashed it.

Larry muttered something and walked away. Cynthia’s shoulders slumped and she put her hands on her face. Connor slinked down the stairs and into the kitchen. He kneeled down and began picking up the large pieces. It was the least he could do for being a dick to her all the time.

Cynthia let out a breathy laugh and nudged him. He looked up and saw her holding a broom and dustpan. “You’ll hurt yourself,” she said, “let me do it.”

He placed the glass in the dustpan and stood awkwardly to the side as she swept. She threw the glass away and did one final sweep to make sure nothing was hiding. When she finished, she faced Connor.

“I know you’re mad,” she said softly, “but hurting yourself is not the answer.” Connor shrugged. “I know they don’t do physical damage, but you can’t do this whenever you two fight.”

Connor nodded only so he could leave. Cynthia smiled and hugged him tightly. He squirmed a bit before she let go. He walked back to his room and grabbed the candy. He threw away the one he started and handed the two bags to Cynthia when he got back to the kitchen. She threw the open bag away and placed the other one back in the box.

“What do you want for dinner?” she asked. “You can pick tonight.”

He had to think about it. “Pizza.” Cynthia nodded and walked over to Larry’s computer. He left it on by accident when he had to pick Connor up. “Can we get a dessert one too? The marshmallow one?”

“Anything you want.”

_And now I try hard to make it_   
_I just wanna make you proud_   
_I'm never gonna be good enough for you_   
_I can't stand another fight_   
_And nothing's alright_

Connor was in a bad mood throughout the entire day. He didn’t get any sleep, he fought with Larry before school, Jared teased him relentlessly, and he’d forgotten all his homework at home and now the teachers probably think he’s lazy. Which. Okay, that’s fair; he is. But they don’t don’t need to know that.

So when Connor got home, he tried his best not to directly cause arguments. His father bugged him about grades and homework and even the fight a few months ago, but Connor didn’t reply despite Larry’s aggravated tone.

Cynthia was out running errands so it was just him, Larry, and Zoe in the house. Zoe was in her room probably practicing for her upcoming dance recital. She got a mini solo and she’s spent the past three days blasting her music in her room. It annoyed the hell out of Connor. He could feel it vibrating the thin walls that separated their rooms.

He tried to get used to it seeing as how he would be completely deaf soon and wouldn’t have to hear it again. But until then, he had every right to be pissed off.

He dragged himself up to his room and slammed the door. He threw his backpack onto the floor by the door. It landed in a pile of dirty clothes.

He put earbuds in to drown out Zoe’s horrible music. Why couldn’t she just put headphones one? She’d be able to practice and Connor wouldn’t have to pound on her door all the time.

Connor threw himself onto his bed. He laid his face in the pillow.

After five minutes of lying still, he decided going downstairs was the best way to avoid the music. Even if that meant possibly interacting with Larry.

He forced himself off the bed and over to the door. He threw it open, stopping it before it hit the wall. He didn’t need a bigger dent in it. That would give Larry more reasons to yell at him.

He walked down the stairs and into the living room. He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. He surfed through channels and chose Law and Order: SVU. It was the first episode.

He sat on the couch and extended his legs so he took up all of the space. He took out his phone and scrolled through his Instagram. He followed a few art and cooking pages, along with one quote page. Seeing nothing interesting, he set his phone down and tried to pay attention to the show.

Zoe appeared in the room with her small radio.

Connor groaned. “What are you doing?”

“My room is too small for the last move,” Zoe said, “so I came down here. And I could use an audience.”

“Keep it down then.” Zoe rolled her eyes. She placed the radio on the coffee table and turned it on. Connor gritted his teeth and turned the show’s volume up.

She started dancing like he wasn’t there. She was doing spins and kicks and other moves Connor didn’t care about. Until one move landed her in front of the TV.

Connor tried to look around her but whenever he moved his head, she’d move to where he was looking. Like she was purposefully pissing him off.

He tried to nudge her out of the way but her dancing made it hard. He ended up accidentally pushing her instead. She cried out as she fell.

“Connor what the hell?” she yelled.

“You shouldn’t’ve danced in front of the TV!” he yelled back.

She crossed her legs. “That doesn’t mean you can push me!”

Connor scoffed. “I just nudged you, stop whining.” He stood up and walked out of the room. Zoe followed closely behind.

“Why are you like this?” she pestered. “Why are you angry all the time?”

Connor stopped where the stairs began. “I grew the hell up. Maybe you should too.”

She crossed her arms. “Maybe if you weren’t a freak you wouldn’t’ve-“

Connor’s blood ran cold. Everything happened so fast yet so slow. Everything was blurry. He didn’t understand what was going on and couldn’t control it; his body moved at if he was a puppet attached to strings.

When he came back to his sense, he saw Zoe braced against the back of the couch, hand to her cheek. A single tear rolled down her face.

Connor stared at her as she took her hand down. A large, red mark covered her cheek. He look down at his own hand, terror etched across his face. He looked back to Zoe. “I, I didn’t mean to.”

“I hate you,” Zoe whispered. “Why can’t you just be normal?”

He took small steps up the stairs, not breaking eye contact with his sister. When he was safely on the second floor he turned and ran to his room. He slammed the door and locked it.

He pressed his back against the cold wood. He dug his palms into his eyes and ran them all over his face as he processed what he had done.

He made his way to his dresser and opened the top shelf. He pulled out his razor. He made small, quick cuts along with arm and put it away. The pain was light, but it was pain.

He sat on his bed and thought. He really hadn’t meant to hit her. He was already upset and her calling him a freak made him blow up. He doesn’t blame her if she does hate him. He’d hate himself too if he was her. Actually, he doesn’t need to be another person for that to be possible.

_Cause we lost it all_   
_Nothing lasts forever_   
_I'm sorry I can't be perfect_   
_Now it's just too late and_   
_We can't go back_   
_I'm sorry I can't be perfect_

Connor sat on his floor in his dark room. The only light was from his phone. He didn’t want to turn on the lights in case someone was still up. That was unlikely as it was one in the morning, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He’s been planning this since the beginning of the year and was not about to have it be messed up.

He stared at the pill bottle in his left hand. He was sure it was enough. Ibuprofen wasn’t very lethal so he had around one hundred pills.

He didn’t bother with a note. Why leave something for someone when they hate you? He opened the bottle and poured the pills into his palm. He stared at them. He lifted his hand to his mouth. He was about to pour them in when he froze.

Did he want to do this here? What if someone finds him before it the pills kick in? And did he really want to be surrounded by his boring, dark room?

He put the pills back into the bottle and stood up. If he remembered correctly, there’s an orchard thirty minutes away. He could go there. No one would find him until late morning or early afternoon.

Shoving the bottle into his hoodie pocket, he walked over to his window and pushed it open. The cold air swirled into the room, hitting him in the face and making him shiver. It was March and there was hardly any snow left on the ground but that didn’t mean the nights and early mornings were warm.

He swung one leg over the ledge and searched for a foothold. When he found it, he threw his other leg over and scaled down the building. This definitely not his first time sneaking out of the house so he got few scrapes. He was close to the ground when he let go. He fell into a squat and quickly stood up.

He searched for the bottle to make sure it hadn’t fallen out. He made his way to the front of the house. He stopped and stared at the building. All the lights were off, which was expected. He didn’t make much noise. But he had hoped someone heard him and chased after him, talk him out of it, show that they cared at least a little bit.

He put his hands in his large hoodie pocket. He sniffed and turned away from the house. He walked down the sidewalk. The streetlights were his only source of sight. He would’ve brought a flashlight but his parents’ room was on the first floor and would’ve noticed a light outside their window.

It was silent except for Connor’s shoes hitting the pavement and the quiet chirps from crickets hidden in the grass.

His legs quickly grew tired and he wished he took his bike. The orchard was a thirty minute drive, but an hour walk. He couldn’t stop though. He knew that if he did, he would lose all courage and go back home defeated. So he forced his legs to take larger steps, ignoring the aches.

He took few breaks and by the time he got there, it was one in the morning and his legs were ready to collapse. He climbed over the gate and jumped down. He landed on his feet but lost balance and fell to his knees.

He stood up and walked deep into the orchard. He spotted a large rock and headed over to it. He sat on it and fished out the pill bottle. He shook it a few times, listening to the pills rattle inside.

He unscrewed the cap and poured most of the pills out. A few fell onto the ground but Connor didn’t pick them up, thinking the ones in his hand would be enough.

He put his head back and let the pills drop into his mouth. He winced at the bitter taste, instantly wishing he had brought a water bottle to wash them down. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to swallow.

He slid down the rock, bringing his knees up to his chest. He laid down on his side and wrapped his arms around his legs. How long did it take for these to kick in?

He thought of the past few months. He thought of the fights, of the yelling, of the threats. He was tired of it. He’s so fucking tired. Tired of all the drama, of all the fights that end with hurtful words and slamming doors. Tired of being a stubborn, sorry excuse for a son. And damn it, he’s tired of being tired.

He thought of Cynthia. Thought of how she always tried her best but never did anything because Larry held a higher power in the house. How she would hide behind shopping and yoga and cooking. How she would say she loved him no matter what even though she was probably silently hoping the old Connor would return.

He thought of Larry. How he would always yell at him for things he couldn’t control. How he believed mental illness was fake and everything Connor did was for attention. How he would just act like nothing was wrong. How he would ignore whenever Connor asked for help with anything.

But most importantly, he thought of Zoe. How they used to be close as children and now they scream at each other. How they can hardly stand to be in the same room. How Connor once threatened her while high and how she has every right to hate him.

But she probably doesn’t hate him as much as he hated himself in every moment they fought. God how much he regrets it, but he just couldn’t bring himself to apologize. He wanted to, god how he wanted to. He just couldn’t find the strength.

He sighed, closing his eyes. He wanted to rest. Maybe if he fell asleep, the pills would kill him faster. As he felt himself drift off, he decided to focus on the good things.

The family trips to the orchard, where Connor and Zoe would laugh and play and when Larry accidentally threw their airplane into a pond. Where Cynthia would smile and it didn’t show sadness or strained happiness. Where they would sometimes bring bread and feed ducks if Connor wouldn’t chase them. Where the siblings would beg Larry to do his goose impression.

The nights where Cynthia and Larry would fight and Zoe would huddle herself into the farthest corner in Connor’s room while he painted her toes a bright pink and she would braid or practice the few hairstyles she could with the neck-length hair he offered. Where Connor would break out the why did the chicken cross the road jokes to make her laugh, even the littlest bit, just so the tears would slow. Where Zoe would faintly sing to him even if her child voice cracked from her crying and was pitchy.

The hot summer days where they went to A La Mode. Where Zoe would tease Connor because he would get the weirdest flavors and toppings. Where Connor would scoop ice cream onto his finger and put it on her nose. Where rainbow sprinkles would stick to his sister’s mouth and she would somehow have ice cream on her forehead.

Something wet stained his face and he realized he was crying. His body shook with sobs but he didn’t make a sound. There was nobody within miles of the place but Connor knew that crying was seen as weakness. He didn’t want to be weak in front of anyone, including himself.

He put his arms around his face as if that would stifle the sound. The tears soaked through his sleeves and met his arms. The water was cold against his warm skin.

Why couldn’t he just be normal like Larry and Zoe request? Why does he have to be a monster every single day? If he was normal, maybe he’d have friends, maybe he’d have a good relationship with his family, maybe he’d be the perfect boy everyone expects him to be. Maybe he would love himself then. Or would he, along with everyone else, hate that Connor too?

He had one final thought before he fell asleep. _At least I can’t be a fuck up in Summerland._

_Nothing's gonna change the things that you said_   
_Nothing's gonna make this right again_   
_Please don't turn your back_   
_I can't believe it's hard_   
_Just to talk to you_   
_But you don't understand_

Connor was dead. Or, at least that’s what he hoped. But when he woke up in a bright forest with a pounding headache and an upset stomach, he realized that he didn’t get his wish. He cursed at himself for messing it up. He had even prayed to the Goddess for help with it.

He was on his knees. The wet earth stuck to his jeans. He looked up at the sky, squinting his eyes to protect them from the bright light. He took a deep breath and screamed. He screamed to let out his anger, his frustration, his insecurities.

He screamed for three minutes, taking few breaths in between screams. He knelt there, panting and shivering from the night’s cold. His arms itched but he couldn’t bring himself to scratch and tear at them.

He felt sick. He hardly had any time to prepare himself before he leaned over and threw up. Twice. He coughed hard, which led to dry heaving.

He found a leaf nearby to wipe his mouth on. He hoped it wasn’t poison ivy. He threw the leaf away and stood up, his legs weak and shaky from the uncomfortable position he woke up in and throwing up a year’s worth of dissolved pills.

He fished his phone out of his pocket and saw that it was ten in the morning. Shit. Larry’s going to be pissed. He slipped his phone back into the pocket and traded it for a small bag of weed he took wherever. He quickly rolled a joint and threw the baggie to the ground and lit the joint.

He smoked as he left the orchard. He noticed it was really hot and he wanted to take off his hoodie. But he would have to put it back on once he got home and he really didn’t want to do that.

He had finished the joint by the time he was halfway home and was noticeably high. It wasn’t much, he didn’t have a lot of weed in the orchard, but you would know if you looked hard enough.

The house came into view and he saw Cynthia in the window. She was holding her phone to her ear. When she saw Connor, she cried out and spoke quickly to the phone before hanging up with whoever she was talking to. She ran out of the house and scooped the boy up into her arms.

“Connor where were you?” she asked. Tears were running down her face. “You weren’t in your room this morning.”

Connor forced himself out of her hold. “I was out.”

Cynthia frowned and followed him into the house. Larry looked up from his spot at the kitchen table.

“Where were you?” he asked, not as softly as Cynthia had.

“None of your business,” Connor retorted. He felt off. No longer angry at his parents, he just felt. . . Empty. The anger was still there, but it was directed more at himself than anything else.

He kept his face blank. If his father was going to not even act like he cared, then Connor was done showing any emotion too.

He spotted Zoe sitting on the floor in the living room, phone in her hands and TV playing soft jazz music quietly.

“Connor, tell us,” Larry pushed. Connor blinked at him. A beat of silence passed and he made his way towards the staircase. “You can’t just leave whenever you want and not let us know.”

“Why?” Connor asked. “It’s not like you care.”

“Of course we care, Connor,” Cynthia chimed in.

Connor huffed, not in the mood for a fight. Then again, he never was but he got them anyway. “Are you sure about that? Because for the past few years, all you guys have ever done is show how much you hate me.” He turned around and made eye contact with Zoe. “And while you can go on and on about how you love me, I know for sure that one of you doesn’t.”

Zoe shrunk back and looked down, quilt etched into her face. Connor turned back around and climbed the stairs. He slammed the door behind him and locked it.

He pushed himself against the door and let his legs give out. He slid to the floor, knees pulled to his chest. He stared at his wrists. “Sorry I broke your promise, Zoe.”

_Cause we lost it all_   
_Nothing lasts forever_   
_I'm sorry I can't be perfect_   
_Now it's just too late and_   
_We can't go back_   
_I'm sorry I can't be perfect_

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics - Perfect by Simple Plan
> 
> Man oh man I hope y’all enjoyed this. It took me almost a month to write this and a little over two weeks to edit. The Zoe scene at the end was really hard to write. I had no idea how to make Zoe say what she said in a way that made it feel natural so I fucking winged it.
> 
> I’m never writing this much again (yet here I am, about to write 4 more with the same length)
> 
> For anyone confused: Summerland is where Pagans believe you go after you die (I know it’s a silly name, but that’s what it is. I believe it’s because Paganism is a very nature based religion, but I’m new to it so don’t quote me on that). Cynthia raised Zoe and Connor as Wiccan (a branch of the Pagan faith) but Larry got mad about it so she stopped but Connor still somewhat believes, so that’s why it’s mentioned.


End file.
